The Phantom Snake
by DrawingMidnight
Summary: 1911: The mysterious, dark past of the Palais Garnier, a crumbling opera house in Paris, is revealed when items from the vaults are recovered and auctioned off. A poster, a music box, and a chandelier, magically sends us back in time to 1881 to tell this twisted tale of a broken man and his naive muse and the struggle that both will endure. This is a Tomarry fic! POTO AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

 _ **All characters belong to J.K. Rowling**_

 _ **All ideas and excerpts belong to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Gaston Leroux**_

 _ **Hello~! This is my first work on this site so I hope you enjooyyyy~~~! :3**_

 _ **Unbetated**_

 _ **Edit: I tried to make it so that you didn't have to be totally familiar with the Phantom of the Opera Universe in order to understand it and picture the setting**_

 **Paris, 1911**

A thick layer of dust covered the dull, golden statues of naked women being captured by demonic men which framed the sides of the stage of the once glorious opera house; even the angel statues that framed the upper area of the stage lacked luster. The dust spread across the whole stage and into the seats of the audience. Dust engulfed the entire, crumbling Paris Opera House.

Not a soul had stepped foot in that decrepit building in years, save for wandering homeless seeking shelter— however even those were few. Most avoided the ancient house in fear of what used to lurk there and thought that perhaps it _still_ did.

But now, people gathered around on the stage, disturbing the dust layer and sending bits of it flying into the air. Large sheets of canvas with different lot numbers covered various items on the stage, the largest being lot 666.

A woman with what was once fiery red hair now dulled through the years of aging and greying, sat in a wheelchair on the stage with her kind nurse behind her. She stared up at the figure behind the podium who spouted out various prices for the lots being auctioned off.

The gavel, slammed down with a loud crack signaling that another item from the vaults of the old opera house had been sold.

"Sold. Your number sir? Thank you." The auctioneer moved on to the the next item. "Lot 663, then, ladies and gentlemen: a poster for this house's production of "Hannibal" by Chalumeau." Another man strode onto the stage from the right wing, a long roll of paper under his arm.

"Showing here." The man whipped the poster out of its tight roll creating a loud crack causing some of the buyers to jump.

"Do I have ten francs?" The auctioneer looked around the room, but saw no one raising his or her numbers. "Five then. Five I am bid." Several others raised their numbers. "Six, seven. Against you, sir, seven. Eight. Eight once. Selling twice. Sold, to Ginny, Viscountess de Weasley." The man rolled up the poster a disappeared once more into the wings.

Another man came out from the wings holding another item which sold for fifteen francs. It had been a pistol and three human skulls from one of the opera house's previous productions.

The next lot was announced by the auctioneer, "Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mache musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ." The porter emerged from the wing carrying the music box. "Attached, the figure of a snake in Persian robes playing a rattle. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order." The man holding the music box held it out turned to his left and right, showing it to the bidders.

"Showing here." The man turned the large crank that stuck out of the box a couple of times, winding up the music box. A joyful tune echoed throughout the opera house, the first and last bit of music in years that the grand stage would hear.

"May I start at twenty francs?" The auctioneer glanced around his audience of bidders. No one moved. "Come, come now ladies and gentlemen— fifteen, then?"

Ginny tapped her nurse's hand on her on her shoulder causing her bidding number to go up.

"Fifteen I am bid."

Several others began raising their own bidding numbers and eventually someone shouted out, "Twenty five!" However, the nurse raised the bidding number once more.

"Going for thirty francs then… thirty once. Thirty twice." The auctioneer paused before loudly declaring, "Sold, for thirty francs to the Viscountess de Weasley!" He turned to the women in the wheelchair and nodded. "Thank you very much, madame."

Ginny waved the man holding the music box over to herself so that she could finally hold the thing that her beloved had often described to her with a distant gaze and smile on his face. She traced her fingertips over the snake's carved scales and the gold trim of the box it sat on. She held the box as if it were a delicate baby in her arms, and stared into the beady, yellow eyes of the serpent.

"Wonderful, aren't you…" she whispered. "He described you perfectly…" She stroked the velvet pillow the snake sat, coiled on. "Always going on about your velvet lining and your figurine of lead…" Looking back up, her attention returned to the auction but a thought still lingered in her head.

 _Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?_

"Lot 666, then, ladies and gentlemen," The auctioneer announced. The crowd's eyes all narrowed in on the large piece of canvas that hid the item.

"A chandelier in pieces." He paused, taking in the crowd's reactions. "Some of you may recall the terror named Voldemort: a mystery never fully explained…" A few of the older people nodded, their gaze a bit glazed as they remembered the past.

"We are told ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have restored it and fitted up parts of it with wiring for the new electric light, so that we may get a hint of what it may look like when re-assembled." The auctioneer paused as the soft pattering of clapping filled the opera house one last time.

"Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination— gentlemen?"

An enormous, bright flash of light surrounded the chandelier and engulfed the entire stage in white. Color began to return to the furniture, stage, ceiling, and walls as the opera house returned to its original magnificent state of so many years ago. The cobwebs were swept away and the luster of the statutes, metal, and crystal was restored.

The tremendous chandelier full of glistening, twinkling crystals gradually rose high above the stalls, taking its rightful place in the middle of the room to display its splendor once more.

 **Paris, 1881**

A young man with slicked back, platinum blonde hair strode out onto the stage while carrying what appeared to be a severed head. He wore an intricate and detailed costume that had a small chestplate with carvings and designs, a helmet adorned with colorful feathers, and a small dagger attached to his large belt that had a design made out of rubies on the buckle. The whole outfit had a red, green and yellow/gold theme to it with a few smatterings of brown and darker colors. It kind of looked like a rug.

The young man stopped walking once he reached the middle of the stage and fixed his grey eyes on the head in his hands. He took in a deep breath before he belted out an impressively high note and continued singing in a very high range.

" _From the enslaving force of Rome!_ " The last note rang out in the opera house, and immediately after he cut off the note, the orchestra sprang to life along with the chorus members and dancers who flooded onto the stage. A group of ballerinas, male and female mixed together wearing red, green, yellow/gold costumes, scurried onto the stage. They appeared to be the chorus 'slaves' since another dancer came out with a whip and whipped the ground causing them to disperse and dance. The female dancers wore a corset-like top with a gold belt decorated with jewels that had strings hanging from it to provide a little coverage for their tight clad legs. The males on the other hand, including the 'slave master', wore a red, green, yellow/gold skirt and no shirt.

Everyone began to bow as the line, " _Hear the drums! Elissa comes!_ " was sung and a lady emerged on stage wearing a very elaborate, long, flaring, skirt and the same corset-top as the ballerinas. She had a pug like face and appeared to have quite a superiority complex.

The strings gave her the cue to start singing.

" _Sad to return to find the land we love, threatened once more by Roma's far-reaching grasp_."

"No, no, no, no! Signora," a man carrying a large booklet stormed onto the stage. "If you please. _Rome_. We say _Rome_ , not Rom-a!"

Everyone rolled their eyes and broke out of their somewhat uncomfortable positions they had frozen in. They chatted with one another and some stretched a bit.

"Rome? Rome is-a very hard for me—"

"Well, once again, from 'sad return', just try to get it right," the man said, clearly frustrated, cutting of the primadonna's defense about being from 'Italia'.

"From the-a top? _Rome,_ " the singer said, testing the word. However, before the rehearsal could continue, three men dressed in suits wandered onto the stage, the two lagging behind bumping into a few people.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Rehearsals, as you can see, are under way, for a new production of Chalumeau's 'Hannibal'" A man carrying a fashionable walking stick and dressed in a hat and cloak said while waving his hands around himself. Clapping his hands, he called the attention of the room to himself and his two companions. "Ladies and gentlemen, some of you might have already met Monsieur Dippet and Monsieur Dumbledore—"

"I'm sorry Monsieur Fudge! We _are_ rehearsing, if you wouldn't mind _waiting_ a moment," the man with the booklet who had long greasy looking, black hair snapped as he sent a cold glare toward the three intruding men.

"My apologies Monsieur Snape, proceed," Fudge apologized, his voice holding a bit of a scared waver. He turned to his two companions and whispered, "Monsieur Snap, our chief repetitor, a bit of a tyrant, I'm afraid."

"From 'sad return'! Signora!" Snape barked, causing everyone to scramble into their places while the orchestra began to play again.

" _Sad to return to find the land we love, threatened once more by,_ " The soprano paused before over-emphasizing the word ' _Rome's'_ and then proceeded in singing the rest of her lines. " _Far-reaching grasp. Tomorrow we shall break the chains of Rome. Tonight rejoice! your army ha-ha-has,_ " she plugged one of her ears, trying to hit the right note for ' _has'_. "C _ome home!_ "

Once she stopped the singing, the volume of the orchestra rose as the dancers took the stage.

"Signora Pansy Parkison our Principal soprano," Fudge commented, pointing at the departing singer. "She does it quite well." The three men slowly drifted out from the wings as Fudge pointed out different equipment and parts on the stage.

A loud bang of a staff against the ground drew the men's attentions to an exasperated woman wearing a long, plain black dress with a small, skinny feather poking out of her tight, grey bun. "Gentlemen please if you would kindly stand to one side."

"My apologies Madame McGonagall," Fudge apologized, his speech a bit jittery. He led the two others to the side once again. "Madame McGonagall, our ballet instructor. I don't mind confessing, Monsieur Dippet, I shan't be sorry to be rid of the whole blessed business."

"I keep asking you, Monsieur, why exactly are you retiring?" Dippet questioned, however, Fudge ignored him.

"We take a particular pride here in the excellence of our ballets," Fudge said, drawing the men's gazes and minds to the dancers.

"Who's that girl, Fudge?" Dumbledore asked pointing at a girl with bushy brown hair.

"Her?" Fudge searched through the crowd of dancers with his eyes, finally finding the girl who Dumbledore pointed out. "Hermione Granger, one of our best dancers actually. Promising dancer, Monsieur Dumbledore, most promising."

One of the male dancers with inky black hair and intense green eyes seemed to fall out of step with the others his gaze distant. The blonde singer from before sneered as the dancer with black hair almost fell on top of him.

"Watch it Potter," the singer hissed, snapping the absentminded dancer out of his trance, but before he could get back into step, the hawk eyes of Madame McGonagall spotted him.

"You! Harry Potter! Concentrate, boy!" She slammed her staff against the ground again. Harry blushed and fumbled while trying to get back into step with the others.

"Harry are you okay?" Hermione whispered to him while continuing to dance.

"It's nothing… don't worry about it," Harry managed to respond before the choreography for the dance pulled the two of them apart again.

"Potter? Curious name." Dippit watched the boy as he fumbled through the rest of the dance, not quite able to get back into the swing of it.

"English." Fudge commented.

"Any relation to the violinist and piano couple?" Dumbledore asked his eyes landed on the boy.

"Their son, I believe." Fudge sighed. "Always had his head in the clouds though, I'm afraid."

The rehearsal came to a close as the chorus dominated the stage once more and a life sized figure of an elephant was wheeled out of the wings. The ending was anything but perfect—the blonde singer failing to climb onto the elephant in time, and a group of the dancers bursting out into laughter only to be reprimanded by McGonagall— Snape shook his head, sighing in defeat.

Monsieur Fudge clapped his hands trying to draw the crowd's attention to himself. "Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention please?" His meek voice was drowned out by the chatter of everyone else. "Madame McGonagall—"

The loud crack of the staff hitting the ground quieted everyone.

"Thank you." Fudge nodded his head toward McGonagall. "As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent re-tirement." People began to whisper in the crowd but Fudge continued to speak. "I can now tell you that these were all true and it is my pleasure to introduce to you the two gentlemen who now own the Opéra Populaire, Monsieur Armando Dippet." He motioned to a man with very white hair, a short beard, and wore pince-nez on the tip of his nose. "And Monsieur Albus Dumbledore." Fudge then motioned to a man with a long, cascading grey beard and long grey locks (he also wore the most eccentric clothing: lilac and gold striped suit with a bright pink tie that had small images of planets and star sewn into it).

The crowd politely applauded and then returned to their own conversations. A particular blonde haired male glided his way over to the three men, a charming smile plastered on his face. A few dancers and singers group together glanced over at the exchange about to take place, exchanging whispers with each other.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Signor Draco Malfoy, our leading tenor for five season now," Fudge said, puffing his chest proudly. The divo shook hands with the new owners, charming smile still in place.

"Of course! My young boy I have seen _all_ of your greatest roles," Dumbledore smiled a twinkle in his eyes. The soprano from before waltzed over to the group also smiling.

"And let's not forget Signora Pansy Parkinson."

The two new owners bowed and kissed her offered hand.

"An honor, Signora." Dippet said voice full of admiration.

The small group of dancers and singers, who had been eavesdropping, included the raven haired male and bushy haired girl from before.

"Look at how fake he looks," an asian girl laughed, pointing at the blonde. "Really trying to please the new owners." She stood in a b-plus position naturally, eyeing the Draco suspiciously.

"Well that's Draco for you, Cho," Harry slung his arm around the asian girl's shoulders. "All of that ambition he has."

"Gross Harry!" Cho pushed his arm off causing the boy to laugh. "You're covered in sweat!"

"Well, I think we all are," a shy looking boy with shaggy brown hair spoke up. Harry rolled his eyes at the boy's comment.

"Yeah, everyone _except_ our singing buddies Neville." He elbowed a handsome boy with neatly combed light brown hair who was taller than him (but everyone was usually taller than Harry) in the ribs.

"Oi," Cedric rubbed his stomach, feigning pain. "I don't think I'll ever recover!" He dramatically fell to the floor at the feet of the small huddle they had formed.

"Oh don't be such a drama queen Cedric," Hermione playfully scolded, watching as Cedric sat up and remained on the floor. "Singing is actually quite hard," she turned to Harry addressing him.

"I know, I know 'Mione," Harry conceded.

"Oh look at that, now he's going to sing," Cho said, calling the others attention to the divo standing with the new owners.

"Get ready to plug your ears," Cedric muttered, earning a few chuckles from some of his peers.

"You should also prepare Harry," a girl with long, wavy, blonde hair and a dreamy look on her face said with an airy voice. Harry's brow furrowed, but before he could ask her a question, someone began to play the piano, quieting everyone in the opera house.

Draco snatched the long scarf from one of the props people and got into his starting stance. Clearing his throat, he let out his well trained, operatic voice. It could almost be mistaken for an angel. _Almost_. He put too much drama into his singing and acting that it didn't come across as something natural. His cockiness and flamboyance also could be observed in his performance.

"Oh, he's going _all_ out," Cedric said amused.

The next phrase started to play causing Draco to increase the amount of unnecessary drama in his performance.

"You could say that again," Harry scoffed. "It's hilarious how—"

One of the backgrounds unfurled with a loud boom as it hit the ground. Screams filled the stage. Everyone raced past each other, knocking each other over and shoving each other out of the way. The whole troupe descended into panic and chaos.

"It's him," the blonde girl, the only one completely calm and still, said, looking at Harry. Their little circle of friends was being slowly dismantled and swept away by the crowd, but Harry caught her unnerving, grey stare.

"Who! Luna!" Harry shouted over the uproar of the crowd as he was pushed farther away from his friend. He saw her lips move but couldn't hear her over the crowd. He didn't need to hear though since he could read her lips. That single word sent chills down Harry's spine.

 _Voldemort._

 **A/N**

 ** _So how was it? I hope you liked it! Sorry if it was a bit boring, this chapter was just building everything and getting the setting down. I will be posting every month or so because I have school. Ugh. Anyway, Thank you so much for reading! :3 3_**


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N_

 _All characters belong to J.K. Rowling_

 _All ideas and excerpts belong to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Gaston Leroux_

 _Hello again~! Hope you enjooooy_

 _Unbetated_

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Please, calm down!" The sound of Dumbledore's voice rang out above the commotion of the crowd. The people looked over to the new owner and halted in their footsteps, stopping their panicked state but still exchanging nervous whispers with each other.

"Signor! Signor are you okay?" Fudge rushed over to Draco's side, who was crouched on the floor and shaking. "Filch! Filch! Get him down here! He's the one who's done this."

Voldemort

Harry stared at the spot where Luna had been, the name of the terrorizer of the opera house repeating in his head.

Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort Volde—

"Harry! You're as pale as a ghost," a familiar head of bushy hair rushed over to him- well what he thought was bushy hair, his eyesight was rather horrible without his glasses.

"Hermione? Is that you?" Squinting his eyes, Harry could make out the fuzzy figure of his friend.

"Of course it is. Do you know where everyone else went?"

"See, it would be really helpful if I had my glasses."

"Oh yeah!" The whole stage and scenery around them became clearer and finer as Hermione slipped a pair of round, wire glasses onto Harry's nose. "I managed to quickly grab them from the dressing room amidst the chaos." She grinned.

"Thanks 'Mione." Harry smiled. "I really appreciate it."

The two looked over to where the startled and shaking Draco stood. Another man had appeared, he had a bald spot on the top of his head and shoulder length, thin, oily, grey-brown hair.

"Do you really think that Filch did that?" Hermione whispered, glancing over at Harry. The young dancer stiffened, a grim expression on his face.

"I believe that our 'chief of the flies' is innocent," Harry glanced to either side of him and got closer to Hermione to whisper in her ear. "I think it's Volde—" Harry stopped himself from saying the cursed name that everyone in the opera house feared. "I think it's The Phantom Snake." Hermione gasped, the color draining from her face.

"No! It can't be- The Phantom Sn—"

"Shhh, 'Mione," Harry hushed the incredulous girl. "We don't want everyone to start panicking again."

Her cheeks flushed, looking as if she were about to argue but returned to their original pale state once she realized the logic in his statement. Sighing, she muttered, "You're right."

"The Great Hermione Granger, says that I'm right," Harry held his hand to his chest. "Why I am honored."

"Oh shut up," Hermione laughed, playfully punching Harry's arm. "I don't think you're 'not wanting everyone to start panicking' thing is going to last very long," Hermione pointed over to where Filch stood. "He's probably going on about the ghost. He takes great joy in the fear of others." Harry snorted in response.

"Guys!" Cho called out to them, weaving through the crowd with Cedric, Neville and Luna in tow. "Did you hear?"

"What happened?" Hermione asked, curious as usual.

"The Weasleys!" Cho exclaimed. "They're going to be the new patron!"

"How did you find out?" Harry asked, his eyes wide with shock. He couldn't wait to hang out with Ron and have the Golden Trio back together.

Cedric rolled his eyes. "Madame McGonagall just announced it right after our dear, beloved Draco and his groupies stormed out in a huff."

Harry snickered. "Good riddance."

"He had a whole ton of puff sprites around his head," Luna commented in her dreamy tone of voice. No one reacted to her comment, used to her odd commentary.

"It's nice and all that Draco has left but now the new managers are scrambling around trying to find a replacement for the lead," Neville added.

"Oh, right, we never really had a need for an understudy…" Cedric sighed.

The group stood around sullenly. They had put so much work and effort and time into this show, and to have it all go to waste? Harry didn't want to have all those long hours spent tediously learning steps to mean nothing. Especially since he almost had them memorized too— it took him a bit of time to get the steps perfect according to McGonagall's standards.

"Harry can sing," Luna said suddenly, breaking the tense atmosphere.

"Now's not the time for jokes Luna,"Hermione politely chided the girl.

"He really can though," Luna grabbed Harry's arm. "Listen." The four friends watched as Luna dragged Harry over to the new owners probably telling them that he could play the part. They appeared to be a bit hesitant at first but conceded after a little encouragement from McGonagall. Before Harry knew it, he stood in the same place as Draco had before, holding the same scarf that the blonde prat had held just minutes ago. Everyone else milled about appearing to be working on their own tasks but secretly were glancing over to where he stood.

'Great, now I'm the spectacle for the entirety of the Opera house.' Harry could feel his cheeks reddening a bit. 'Let's just get this over with.' However, a thought lingered in the back of his mind.

'Is he watching?'

The piano began to play and the dancer, now supposedly singer, waited stiffly, all his ballet grace and training forgotten. He could feel a nervous, cold sweat gather on his lower back and brow. He wasn't that good at singing— well he really hadn't sung in front of people before. Face to face with them that is. Squashing all negative thoughts about how bad that this could go and trying not to pay attention to the feeling of his stomach eating itself, Harry opened his mouth slightly, letting out his timid, wavering voice.

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye." He squeaked out the last word causing McGonagall to slam her staff on the stage. Harry jumped slightly but continued to sing, his voice a tad bit stronger.

"Remember me every so often promise me you'll try."

"This is doing nothing for my nerves, Dumbledore," Dippet muttered to his colleague. Harry winced, his voice dimming a bit.

"Hold on," Dumbledore responded. "It's about to get good."

Harry glanced nervously over to his friends who spurred him on encouraging smiles. With a sudden burst of courage, the blooming singer let the full range and color of his voice explode from his mouth.

"On that day, that not-so-distant day." He looked into the empty audience, the loose ring of people around him disappearing as he began to slowly place the scarf around his shoulders. "When you are far away and free." His vivid green eyes landed on a shadowy figure leaning on the column in box five, he couldn't looked away. "If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me."

The next few hours went by in a blur for Harry. He had been chosen to sing the leading tenor part in the evening show which meant that he had a large amount of cramming to do. His friends congratulated him but he was soon swept away by Snape to go over Hannibal's lines and oh how Snape hated him, he hated the slimy git too so it was a mutual hatred. The man literally drilled the lines into Harry's head, constantly smacking the top of his head with the score whenever he made a mistake or got distracted. When he finally joined everyone else at the rehearsal, Harry noticed that the dancing improved since he left. At least one good thing happened while he was at Snape's tortuous lessons.

Before he knew it, it was only a few minutes till showtime and he found himself nervously pacing in his dressing room. He had locked the door so he wouldn't be disturbed by his friends and could concentrate on settling his nerves.

'What if I mess up?' He thought. 'I'd make a fool of myself that's what.' Shaking his head, Harry tried clearing his thoughts but couldn't help but remember the figure from earlier.

'Was that him?' He sat down cross legged in front of the large full length mirror and stared at his reflection lost in thought.

"Felix felicis." Harry's head whipped around, trying to pinpoint the source of the serpentine whisper.

Looking up, Harry whispered, "Is that you?"

"Harry!" Hermione's voice sounded from outside the door accompanied by a knock, startling the raven haired boy. "Get out here we are about to start!" Scrambling to his feet, Harry rushed over to the door and opened it, taking one last look in his dressing room.

He fell into step with Hermione as they made their way to the stage.

"Now Harry," she began. "No need to feel too anxious, you'll be great! We all hear you sing and you have a fantastic voice." She turned to him, stopping the steady pace she set. "Good luck and break a leg! You have everyone's support!" She hugged him quickly before dashing over to her place.

"Oh,'Mione!" Harry called after the girl. "What does 'felix felicis' mean?"

Said girl shouted back over her shoulder amidst the chaos, "Latin for 'Happy Luck'! Get to you place Harry we are starting!"

* * *

Harry bowed, a blissful smile on his face. The show went by fairly smoothly, a few mishaps in the dancing, but good overall. The large audience, which left not a single seat empty, threw bundles of roses onto the stage and applauded him as the curtains closed. He caught a glimpse of a group of familiar red heads causing his smile to grow wider.

"Oh. My. God. Harry!" Cho beamed. "You were absolutely brilliant!"

"You were great, mate," Cedric slapped his back. "Finally joining the singing group, ey? Not as easy as you thought." The taller boy raised a brow.

"Oh, sod off," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"You were wonderful Harry," Neville added.

"Quite, he will be pleased," Luna said, handing Harry a rose with a black ribbon tied around it. "You missed one."

"Did you see Harry! The Weasleys are here!" Hermione chirped while pushing Harry toward his dressing room. "Come on! They'll be visiting any minute!" Harry grinned, their little group walking in the direction of his dressing room only to be stopped by McGonagall.

"Not so fast ladies and gentlemen. Some of you need to practice— now!" Cho and Hermione groaned while Neville scuttled back over to the stage. On the other hand, Cedric and Cho shrugged and walked off in the direction of their own dressing rooms. Harry's brow furrowed, he didn't want his friends to miss out on a chance to see their childhood playmates that they hadn't seen in years, so when McGonagall turned around to focus on the dancer, he grabbed Hermione's wrist and quickly dragged her back into his dressing room.

"Oi, Harry, I need to go practice," Hermione complained once they got to his room.

"Come on 'Mione, you? The Protege Hermione Granger needs to practice?" Harry sat on a stool in front of a vanity and started taking off his costume.

"Well that's how I got to where I am now. Practice," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms.

"Well I'm sure missing one practice won't damage the rest of your career." Harry chuckled as Hermione rolled her eyes in defeat. He strode over to the ornate folding screen— which had several articles of clothing strewn over the top of it— and stepped behind it.

Hermione filled the silence by talking about some book that she had recently acquired called, A Tale of Two Cities, Harry droned most of it out, opting to think about when the Weasley were going to arrive as he slipped on his simple, white night robe which hung loosely to the floor around him with loose fitting sleeves that cuffed around his wrists and a small line of buttons that reached to about the middle of his torso. He bent down to put on his plain, velvet, black loafers when he heard a voice.

"Bravissimi," it whispered, elongating the s's. Harry stumbled away from the wall, only one and a half shoes on his feet.

"Did you just hear that?" Harry peered out from behind the dressing screen. Hermione arched an eyebrow in response.

"Hear what? Oh, and where and who exactly has been giving you voice lessons Harry?" Hermione's rapid brain never left a moment for Harry's to process.

Caught off guard, Harry blinked owlishly. "Uh… when I was a child my parent spoke of a being called the 'Angel of Music', and they promised me that they would send the angel to my one day," Harry awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "I believe that I have been taking lessons from this angel… I hear his voice when I come in here for his lessons."

"You can't be serious Har—"

"Angel of music! Guide and Guardian! Grant to me your glory! Angel of Music! Hide no longer! Secret and strange angel…" Harry sang softly, Hermione quietly observed, entranced by the boy's voice. He let silene fall between the two of them, contemplating on whether or not to share more with his friend.

"H-he's always watching, you know. Constantly with me even though I can't see him… It frightens me sometimes," Harry suppressed a shiver, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"There's no need to be afraid Harry," Hermione spoke with a hushed voice. "I'm sure it's—"

"Hermione Jean Granger." Both of their heads whipped over to source of the stern voice. Madame McGonagall stood in the doorway, a displeased look on her face. "I thought you knew better than to skip out on practice. You are a dancer, aren't you?" Hermione hung her head at those words and trudged over to the door.

"See you later Harry," she sullenly waved to her friend and left the room.

"Here," McGonagall handed Harry a letter with a red, wax seal. "I was asked to give you it." She then left the room, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and the letter. He turned the envelope over and broke the seal with his fingers, taking out the piece of parchment.

"Lions… Pranks… Adventures…" A soft smile spread across Harry's lips while his eyes scanned the letter.

"Harry!" Two elbows leaned on both of his shoulder.

"Fred? George?" Harry looked up to see the familiar faces of the redhead twins.

"The one."

"And Only." They two grinned down at him. "Well, Harry seems that you've been promoted," the one on his left said (he still couldn't tell them apart).

"Right you are, George," the one on his right added.

"Oi! Harry, don't forget about us!" the young dance and now singer's gaze fell onto the doorway where two other redheads stood— one girl and another boy about Harry's age.

"Ron! Ginny!" Harry shot to his feet and ran over to his best friend and embraced him. "It's been forever, what five years?"

The freckled faced boy beamed and laughed, "Seems like forever hasn't it, mate?" Elation flowed through Harry's entire being. He had missed his best mate over the many long years that he had stayed in the opera house.

"Hello, Harry," the girl with long, flaming hair shyly smiled.

"Hi, Ginny." He patted her on the shoulder.

"Tonight was a great success with our budding star here," one of the twins announced.

"Not a single refund," the other added.

"Harry!" Ron's eyes brightened. "You will join us for the supper, won't you?"

"Of cour—" The raven paused remember the lesson he had scheduled for tonight. "Sorry, mate, I can't. I've got a lesson." Ron's face fell, he bottom lip protruding a bit.

"You sure you can't miss one lesson?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah."

"How about we come and sneak you out!" One twin jumped up and hooked arms with Ron.

"Sounds like a plan, Fred," George agreed, hooking arms with Ginny.

"Well see you later Harry!" They both said in unison, striding out of the room, their siblings in tow. Those two were absolute troublemakers. They hadn't left any space for Harry to argue or resist their claims.

'Oh well…' Harry thought. 'One lesson won't hurt.'

"Are you going to skip?" A booming voice filled the dressing room. Harry jumped, his eyes darting around the room. "Do you dare defy your Angel!" Harry's eyes widen as his body began to tremble.

"N-no, I wasn't," He stumbled over his words. "Please forgive me my Angel, it was a mere moment of weakness on my part." He bowed his head submissively.

A strong, crisp, deep, baritone voice like golden, rich honey drifted into the room, "Flattering child, you shall know me, see why in shadow I hide!" Harry shuffled to the center of the dressing room wondering where the voice was coming from. "Look at your face in the mirror I am there inside!" The boy slowly turned around to face the full length mirror but instead of seeing his own green eyes staring back at him, he saw dark brown eyes staring at him. Half of the mysterious person's face was covered with a porcelain, white mask while the rest of his body was shrouded in a dark cloaks and atop his head rested a black fedora. Harry was mesmerized by this masked stranger as he walked closer to the mirror.

"I am your angel of music. Come to your angel of music." The mirror's glass slid away. The angel offered his hand to his entranced protege. "I am you angel of music. Come to you angel of music…" Harry took his angel's gloved hand, following him into the mirror as the glass slid back into place.

The Weasleys finally burst into the room, the locked door magically unlocking.

"Harry?" Ginny looked around the room.

"An angel?" Ron's eyes wandered the empty room trying to find his friend.

"Guess he won't be going to dinner then," Fred and George said in unison.

 _A/N_

 _Did ya like it? I got this chapter out a lost faster than I expected! ^w^ I hope to update soon but school is picking up ,_

 _Well until next time~ :3 3_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**

Finally got this chapter FINISHED! Hope you enjoy~! ;3 3

Here's the link for the song and phrasing that I was imagining: watch?v=57etGc2mHW8

All rights go to Andrew Lloyd Weber for song lyrics

Unbetated

Down, down they went, deeper and deeper into the depths of the Palais Garnier with the dim glow of a lantern guiding the way through the dank, foreboding, labyrinth. Harry remained focused on his masked angel throughout their descent, keeping a firm grip on the gloved hand and never letting go lest it turn out only to be a mere dream.

His angel lead him down yet another stone staircase and into a short tunnel wider and much larger than the others. It appeared to open up into what seemed like endless darkness. Across the sea of black, Harry saw the faint shine of light through the thick fog.

"What's over there," he asked, the first words spoken since they started their plunge. The angel guided him over to a small, ebony colored boat and placed the lantern on a hook situated on the the bow of the boat.

"My kingdom of music…" the angel replied, helping Harry into the boat. The man clad in black save for the porcelain mask on his face, stepped into the boat and untied them from the stone landing. Using the long oar, the angel pushed them out onto the still, seemingly lifeless lake.

The fog swallowed them whole.

Harry squinted his eyes, trying to see through the mist, the only thing visible being the slowly growing spot of warm light ahead of them.

"Why are you taking me there?" Harry turned around to look up at his angel who stood at the stern of the boat, steering and paddling.

"I need you to sing for my music," his angel replied in a silky baritone voice that sent shivers up Harry's spine.

"Why me?" Harry asked his voice almost a whisper. However, his body jolted as the boat slide up against the wooden dock, lightly bumping against it.

"We have arrived." The masked man gracefully stepped out of the boat and tied it to the dock. He picked up the lantern from where it hung on the bow and then offered his hand to Harry. The raven hesitantly took the gloved hand. He couldn't go back now even if he wanted to. A small voice in the back of his head was saying that this wasn't safe and that this was probably the Phantom Snake, but he had long since past the point of no return.

Harry felt the press of fingertips against the small of his back as his angel led him up the slick, stone steps. Gasping, he felt himself slip. He could sense his body tipping forward. His eyes widened. He stuck his arms out to break his fall. He knew he'd most likely break a wrist or an arm worst case scenario because of the uneven ground he was on. Tensing, Harry closed his eyes bracing for impact and pain. However, all he felt was a hand plastered to his stomach and sigh behind him.

"Please do be careful." His angel withdrew his hand once he was sure that Harry had regained his footing. "For a dancer, you are quite clumsy." A bit of humor laced his honeyed voice. Harry whipped around in shock, a retort on the tip of his tongue, catching a glimpse of half a smirk on the chiseled, flawless side of his angel's face.

"These stair are covered in slime and water! How am I not to slip!" Harry huffed.

"Let us continue." The masked man stepped around Harry, ignoring the disgruntled boy's words. Harry remained on the step defiantly, watching the dim light of the lantern move away and start to fade. Darkness crept up behind him, engulfing him whole while the light got farther away. Harry's eyes, that glowed weakly in the dark, darted around the cavern at the slightest of sounds. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot when he felt something cold and slippery curl around his ankle. Harry jumped, his body shuddering as he shook his leg. Having enough of the foreboding darkness, Harry clambered up the rest of the steps, slipping a few times, but making it back into the safety of the dim, circle of light.

The angel chuckled and continued walking causing Harry to pout and reluctantly follow. The pair passed under the gated door— which was a circular shape made out of stone with seven snakes carved onto it— and into the entrance chamber of the lair which consisted of long, spacious, stone hallway with several large, stone snake heads lining its damp walkway. At the farthest end, a stone carving of massive serpent with razor sharp spines and fangs spanned the entire wall with small pool of water beneath it. Harry stared in awe at the chamber and dumbly trailed after his smirking angel.

"Welcome Harry to the Chamber of Secrets." The angel spoke with fondness. "My kingdom of music…" He led Harry through a small, arched hole in the wall which held warmer, dryer room within. Littered across the floor were sheets of parchment crumpled into a ball or with notes written upon them, surrounding an organ. Harry carefully stepped around these piles and deeper into the snake's den. He wandered over to the magnificent instrument, all the while, he could feel a pair of eyes following his every move.

Atop the organ, an inkwell with a quill sat ready to be used. Multiple, thin, tall candelabras flickered with the slight disturbance the visitors caused in the air. Some candles simply sat on the floor, their wax melding with the stone and hints of wood here and there— Harry made sure that his night robe didn't get too close to any of the flames.

Ornate, oriental rugs covered some of the floor space going along with the green and silver theme of the room. Harry paused by a warm fire roaring in the fireplace, adding more light to the space. He cast his gaze down two steps into another open space. In this section of the room there was a silver and green bed with a thin, veil canopy nestled in the corner, and in another corner, a dark green, velvet draping covered something tall. Next to the bed, on a piece of stone that jutted out from the wall, sat a music box with a figure of a snake coiled on top of a velvet pillow.

"This place is beautiful…" Harry mumbled. He never thought that such a beautiful paradise could lay hidden beneath the opera house, past all of the dank corridors and rat catchers. He'd lived in the Palais Garnier since he was child and thought he had already found all the secret passageways and hidden places but apparently there were more deeper in the vaults than he had ever gone.

Harry's hand flinched at the cool, gentle grasp wrapped around his wrist. He turned around and saw that his angel had discarded his gloves, hat, and cape on the organ. Dark eyes stared intensely at him causing him to become a bit self conscious. Was it the hair? He could never get it to flatten or styled— it was untamable! Sometimes Harry though it had a mind of its own. He unconsciously patted his hair and ran his fingers through it only managing to make it look even wilder.

His angel chuckled and before Harry could glare at him, he found his back flush up against the angel's chest and an arm snaked around his waist while the other remained on his wrist. The dancer tensed, his cheeks growing as red a the candle flames surrounding them. He could feel the rumble of another laugh emitting from his angel, making him flush even more but with irritation this time. Harry twisted around, glaring up at his amused angel. That's when he noticed the height difference between them— the man before him was almost a whole head taller than him. Harry glared even more, not able to ignore his height envy, to the amusement of the supposed angel.

"Who exactly _are_ you?" Harry questioned skeptically. He tried to take a step back but was caught in the iron coil of his angel. The man did not respond but simply continued to stare at Harry.

He could feel his patience thinning and opened his mouth for some sarcastic remark but was cut off by the mysterious man.

"Some call me an angel." The man made direct eye contact with Harry and then paused, looking over the boy's shoulder. "Others know me as a Phantom…"

Harry felt all the blood drain from his face.

Shit. _Shit_. His body began to shake and he felt his knee go a little weak.

"Oh come, come now," his angel, rather the phantom said, releasing his hold on Harry and letting the boy drop to the ground. "Some part of you _knew_. You just chose to ignore it."

Harry could see half a smirk on the his face and all he wanted to do was wipe it right off the man's smug face. With a sudden bout of courage or pure recklessness, Harry shot to his feet and made to snatch the mask. However, the black clad man, with speed like a viper strike, seized his hands.

" **Don't.** _ **Ever**_ **. Touch. The mask.** " The man hissed, his eyes flashing red. Harry winced, his wrists were most definitely going to have some bruises tomorrow.

Having made his point, the phantom let go of Harry and strode over to the organ, leaving the fallen boy to his thoughts.

Harry stared wide eyed at the spot where the man had once stood, thoughts racing through his head like lightning. He touched the small scar on his forehead of a lightning bolt, his gut twisting at significance of it. A marking he received when he was young and had just arrived at the Palais Garnier. Most told him it was from falling over and hitting his head, but Harry remembered that night. The night he first heard the voice singing the music of the night.

A soothing tune filled the chamber and the phantom began to sing.

" _Nighttime sharpens and heightens each sensation."_ Still a little perturbed, Harry cautiously approached the organ. What had that been about? What was his angel, er, the phantom hiding? He subconsciously rubbed his wrists.

" _Darkness stirs and wakes imagination."_ Harry silently stood and watched the phantom, entranced by the man's voice and song. He felt himself being lured in by the intoxicating song. All worries and tautness in Harry seemed to slip away….

" _Silently the senses, abandon their defenses..."_ The phantom appeared much more relaxed. His face— well half of it melted away the icy exterior and seemed to emanate true warmth. Harry could see hints of emotions here and there that were usually concealed.

" _Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor."_

" _Grap it. Sense it. Tremulous and tender."_

" _Turn your face away from the garish light of day,"_

" _Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light..."_

" _And listen to the music of the night..."_ The phantom stood and stopped playing the organ. He approached the dazed boy who look at him with glazed, green eyes.

Despite the fact that he clearly saw the masked man stop playing, Harry could still hear the breathy notes of the pipes as if there were some sort of spell cast on the grand organ.

" _Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams,"_

" _Purge all thought of the life you knew before…"_

" _Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar…"_ Harry could feel his soul steeped in music, every bit of him clouded and tainted in the dark color of the music of the night.

" _And you live as you've never lived before…"_ The phantom grasped the boy by his hand and slowly led him deeper into the chamber.

" _Softly, deftly, music shall surround you."_

" _Feel it. Hear it. Closing in around you."_

" _Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind!"_

" _In this darkness, which you know you cannot fight…"_

" _The darkness of the music of the night."_ The phantom stopped walking and circled the bewitched boy.

" _Let your mind start a journey to a strange, new world,"_

" _Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before…"_

" _Let your soul, take you where you long to be!"_ Harry's back arched as he let his head fall back. He could feel pressure build and something stir in his chest.

" _Only then, can you belong to me…"_ The phantom paused behind Harry and wrapped one arm around his chest and the other around his waist. The masked man place his head on the crook of the boy's neck.

" _Floating, falling, sweet intoxication."_

" _Touch me. trust me. Savor each sensation."_ Harry's hand floated up to the masked half the phantom's face, but before he could place his hand on it, the man whipped around, gripping Harry by his shoulder. Dark eyes bore in Harry's, seeming to look into his very soul.

" _Let the dream begin,"_

" _Let your darker side give in!"_

" _To the power!"_ The phantom spun him around so he was facing the velvet draping. " _That you know you cannot fight…"_ The man stalked over to the draping so that he stood next to it. He gripped the sheet, never taking his eyes off Harry as he ripped off.

" _The power of the music of the night!"_ Harry stared back at what appeared to be a reflection of himself but instead wore a crisp, white suite instead of his night robe. Overwhelming thoughts and feelings filled the small boy. Not able to resist the urge to move forward and try and feel the cool glass under his fingertips, to confirm that this was indeed reality, Harry stepped closer to the mirror. However, the figure that appeared to be in the mirror suddenly thrusted forward, causing the already emotionally and physically drained boy to faint.

The phantom rushed forward, catching the boy, a chilling glee filling his face. He carried his protege to the bed and laid him down carefully.

" _You alone can make my song take flight…"_ He stroked the pale cheek of his muse.

" _Help me make the music of the,"_ in his dream state, Harry could distantly feel the cool press of lips on the scar on his forehead.

" _Night…"_

 **A/N**

I hope you liked it! I FINALLY got this chapter out which I've been trying to do for the past 2 weeks... School's been picking up which is a total DRAG! Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Until next time~! :3 3


End file.
